Clinton Cards Are Hate

There have been , at one point or another, approximately five different outlets of ‘Clinton Cards’ spring up somewhere in my hometown during the past year. I’ve watched as the store moves from area to area, outlet to outlet, section of hell to… no, wait, Clinton is in the same section of Hell that it’s always been in. And that section, according to Dante (ever read a blog that quotes Dante before? Marry me!), is the eighth. Go look it up sometime.

Clinton Cards have done so much to deserve the Universal hatred of humankind. So, so much. For a start, allow us to tell you all about Mr Clinton. THERE IS NO MR CLINTON. It’s a lie. Clinton Cards were not set up by anyone called Clinton, or in a place called Clinton; the word Clinton is completely haphazard and chosen possibly so that the chain could cash in on the recurrent popularity of noted secretary-worrier Bill Clinton. He doesn’t own the chain, though, and neither does his ‘wife’ Hillary. George Clinton is another man who doesn’t own the shop. In actuality, the place was founded by Don Lewin in 1968. That’s right – they attempted to cash in on the popularity of a man who wasn’t due to become President for another thirtyish years. Witchcraft.

Clinton Cards is marketed to the general public as a card shop. It is where you buy cards for people, like your mother, father, sister, brother, or dog. Hey, wait – dog? That’s absolutely correct, Wilftonville – dog. You can buy cards for or from your dog to send to members of your family (but not, conveniently, other dogs) with a footprint on the front and some computer-type inside saying something with a dog-related pun involved. This is the first point that we can’t stand for. You can write this point down, people – dogs are unable to write, produce, or sell cards. They can’t even tell a card apart from a different piece of paper. we’ll tell you why, too. Dogs do not speak English.

They don’t speak any language apart from ‘dog’. That’s their native tongue, so when you get a card from your dog (cat, canary, slave) to send out, be aware that at the same time you are buying this piece of paper, you are also establishing an English supremacy on the planet. Do you want that? If you buy a card, we’ll say simply, you are saying that dogs are inferior to people. Try telling that to PETA! Your dog, at the same time, probably hates you for doing this, and there is nobody on Earth who should like a card sent by a dog. It’s not cute, it is highly disturbing and the first sign of bestiality tendencies. Another one of the great cards offered by Clinton are those of bereavement. This is yet another card that has not been thought through by the company. Picture the following scene.

Scene: A HOUSE (int.)
Enter YOU, dressed in black and holding a piece of paper. You approach an old woman, AUNT TABITHA, and stand awkwardly next to her until she notices you. There is a coffin behind her.

You: Aunt Tabitha, I got you a card.

Aunt Tabitha: Why?

You: You’ll have to read the card to find out.

Aunt Tabitha: Why?

You: BECAUSE I HAVE MY OWN PROBLEMS, ALRIGHT??

YOU exits scene, leaving Aunt Tabitha with card.


There may have been some exaggeration there, but you get the point. The card goes off to a family member, leaving you free to ignore the funeral and instead get in some extra time on Wii Fit. But do you realise that by sending a card, you are not furthering the emotional bond with Aunt Tabitha that will eventually prove crucial when she croaks it and leaves you nothing in her will? Instead, you are only making it less likely that she will give you her summer house, because you Aren’t There. The whole point of cards is to help people grow closer, but more often than not they only help people grow further apart.

Have you ever wondered why there are not ‘Happy Divorce’ cards out there yet? It’s because these cards already exist, in the form of ‘anniversary cards’. Some people are so insecure in their own relationships that unless they buy each other cards then they will feel like their marriage is crumbling before their very eyes. Cards are thus highly important in keeping together couples who should really get divorced.

I was having a talk the other day with my good friend Claudia Winkleman, who was telling me all about her particular grievance with Clinton. “Seresecros,” she said (for this is my name), “why is it that Clinton Cards sell things in their shops that are not cards?”
“Claudia,” sayeth I, whilst rewriting out tracts from a peace proposal for Ireland, “I believe the answer you are looking for can only be founds deep in your own soul.” Sometimes I like to say this to people, in order to mess with their minds. “What does your heart tell you?”
“Well… I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”
“Oh Claudia Winkleman, you are so witty! I’ll tell you the answer, then. Clinton sell things other than cards because they hate white people!”
“Oh my! Explains this!” She exclaimed, which I then did, thoughtfully, analytically. Everyone who was around us on that day say it was the single greatest revelation they have ever heard. It was a stunning monologue. But I digress.

Y’know what we really hate about Clinton Cards? The payment system. Some cards have a number on them; some have a letter on the back. They’re all meant to tally with a system they print up in the shop, but the reality is that most of these symbols are completely made up by whoever prints them. They pick a letter at random, put it on the back of the cards, and then foist these erratic papers to an unsuspecting public. Thus, when you go to Clinton and try to buy a nice birthday card, you find that your ‘32H’ card does not correspond to anything that can be seen elsewhere. Just to mess with you.

Our last complaint with Clinton Cards is that we can’t understand why it is called Clinton Cards when it would make so much more sense to call them ‘Clinton’s Cards’. If the place is Clinton Cards, that suggest there is no ownership involved. There’s no apostrophe that claims the cards in the name of Clinton, so how come when I walk in there and take some cards home with me, I get arrested? What’s up with THAT?